


Crossing the Line

by bactaqueen



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Covert Ops, Crossdressing, Erectile Dysfunction, Fake Dating, M/M, bickering boyfriends, non-explicit frottage, team america
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-24
Updated: 2015-04-24
Packaged: 2018-03-25 11:40:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3809044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bactaqueen/pseuds/bactaqueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve has to crossdress for an op. Bucky's dick is broken.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crossing the Line

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Recognizable characters belong to their respective owners. No profit is earned and no infringement is intended.

"What the _fuck_ is he wearing?"

"Relax." Natasha's voice was low and even in his ear. "It's not that bad."

No. No, tights and short-shorts and some cartoon character with his face plastered on posters and performing on stage for kids and their mothers--that wasn't "that bad." This was... This was an affront to God. This was a crime against humanity.

This was Steve Rogers in a  _goddamn negligee_ .

"What  _would_ be 'that bad,' Red?" Bucky's finger itched. He shifted position ever so slightly. Staring through his scope at Steve in lingerie was making him feel like the world had tilted and he needed to find his--and his rifle's--place in it again.

"It's an easy in," Natasha said. "He's exactly what Poulin wants. Once we get him alone--"

"Yeah, yeah." Bucky grunted. He knew the plan. He was familiar with the plan. In general he didn't have any problem with the plan. It called for more finesse than he thought Steve possessed, but maybe Steve would surprise him; he'd been running ops with Nat for years, maybe she'd rubbed off on him. He'd even been aware that the plan would require a certain amount of personal compromise on Steve's part. It just hadn't clicked that the plan would call for Steve wearing women's underthings in front of a couple of sleazy-looking guys from New Jersey.

Natasha's voice was all teasing smirk when she said, "I thought I remembered you being a fan of lingerie, Herman."

Bucky smiled. Leave it to Nat to distract him with a happy memory. "Everything looks good on you, Red."

"But not on Rocky?"

"Rocky looks best in nothing at all."

***

"Nope."

All eyes turned to him. Natasha's lips twisted, a wry knowing smile. Sharon was harder to read, but Bucky was pretty sure she was surprised. Sam frowned. Bucky didn't look at Steve. He wasn't sure what he'd see and he didn't want to find out.

"Barnes--" Fury started, and he sounded like he was already tired of fighting. He probably was. The team he'd assembled here wasn't great at following orders as they were given and they had a tendency to feed off of each other, making the whole rogue operation even worse.

Bucky wondered how many times a day he regretted coming back from the dead. Hill had mentioned that Fury had spent several months following "leads" in southern Spain. Leaving that to come back to this? Anyone would have second thoughts.

"He can't do that," Bucky said, because he might muster up some sympathy for the old man, but as long as he was in his right mind, he'd never take anyone's side over Steve's.

Even if Steve didn't even realize he should be sticking up for himself.

Fury raised an eyebrow. "Is there a  _reason_ you're speaking for Captain Rogers, Sergeant Barnes?"

Bucky could play that game. "He's too stupid to say no himself, Colonel,  _sir_ ."

Natasha and Sharon snickered. Sam looked like he wanted to but had more professional restraint than that.

"Buck--" Steve was using that reasonable tone of voice, the one he'd always used when he wanted to burst into occupied buildings first because he had the shield or when he wanted to push for a LALO jump and conveniently forget his own parachute.

"No!" Bucky slammed his fist onto the tabletop. It was the human one, so it didn't do any damage beyond rattling up his arm into his skull. " _No_ . You make any record of this, and those pictures get out, they get out forever. It's not happening. Figure something else out."

"Are you implying there's a security breach on my team, Barnes?"

"Do you really believe there never will be?"

Fury looked like he was all of done and turned to Steve. He opened his mouth but couldn't seem to find the words, so he just sat down.

"Rogers."  _He's your problem, reason with him._

Steve studied Bucky, considering. Finally, he said, "Poulin likes that club with the dancers."

"It would be easy enough to stage an amateur striptease night," Natasha ventured.

Bucky sat back in his chair, shaking a little with the relief of getting his way and dreading someone asking him why he'd kicked up such a fuss. "That's better. No cameras, no phones. Strict enforcement."

"Shouldn't be a problem," Sharon said with a shrug and a glance at Sam.

"I'm not playing bouncer," he responded to her unspoken suggestion. Then, "But how do we make sure that's the night Poulin shows up?"

"We'll put a tail on him and plant the promos where we're sure he'll see them." Natasha's eyes were still on Bucky, considering, but she was fully in planning mode. "Sharon and I can follow him. He won't notice us. Steve, stay on at the studio. Let them call you in and ask you questions, but don't take anything. We wouldn't want to give your old man a heart attack or anything."

"Hey!"

Steve just smiled. "All right."

"Is that satisfactory, Barnes?" Fury glared at him. Impressive, since he did it with just the one eye.

Bucky nodded once. "Should be fine, sir."

***

The apartment was in the next neighborhood over from the "studio" headquarters and just a few blocks in the opposite direction of Poulin's apartment from the club he liked so much. It was clean: rented with Nat's fake identity through official channels with money trickled through one of SI's subsidiaries courtesy of Maria Hill. Bucky had his doubts about the sophistication of Le Coq's operation. He didn't think the man or anyone working for him would look that closely at Steve or Nat, but being careful never hurt anyone, and with his plans to buy up HYDRA's old equipment, maybe he was getting paranoid. Poulin could follow the paper trail all he wanted and it would check out just fine.

Bucky had every faith in the cover. It was solid, as a story since Poulin had a known "thing" for bi guys in established straight relationships, and from a financial standpoint. They didn't need him.

But he still asked Fury to send him in, too.

Fury scoffed. "As who? The boyfriend? What a stretch."

"He's a lousy spy. He does better with backup. Let me be it."

"He has backup."

"She has her own mission. He's on his own when she's working. I'd be there strictly as support."

"Mostly for him. Because this is all about Steve." Fury's eyebrow went up over his good eye. "This has nothing to do with you."

Bucky's jaw clenched. Sometimes it felt like he was bleeding his feelings over everyone he knew, and while he didn't mind so much when it was on Sam or Nat--or, hell, even Sharon; she had the decency to pretend she didn't have any idea where all the blood was coming from--it did bother him when he did it in front of his superior.

He missed Peggy.

"Sir," Bucky said, and that was all he could manage. Where the hell was Sam? Sam was better at the words Bucky couldn't say.

Fury waited. When Bucky didn't say anything else, he sighed. "Fine," he said. "Fine. You go in as... as whatever, I don't care. But you do  _not_ interfere, do you understand? Let him get close to Poulin. I don't care if you have to make up a story about your 'polyamorous bisexuality'  or if you just have to have a good old-fashioned lovers' quarrel--"

Bucky quirked a smile. "'Polyamorous bisexuality' was just a threesome back in our day."

Fury closed his eye and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Barnes, there are some things I do not need to know."

"I thought you were  _the_ spy, Colonel? Don't you need to know everything?"

Fury rubbed at his temples. "We need to get close to this guy. I don't have to remind you how bad it would be for the city if he got his hands on one of those chairs."

Bucky sobered. If anyone understood the gravity of the mission, it was him. The thought of innocent people being wiped and used and wiped again, sold off to the highest bidder and brought back and denied any memory of the things they'd been made to do-- He wanted Poulin bad, probably more than anyone else except maybe Nat. But his first priority had been and would always be Steve.

"I know, sir."

Fury sighed again. "Yeah. I know you know. This just isn't the sort of thing I thought I'd have to deal with when I took this job." He sat back in his chair and tipped his head back. "Natasha stays--"

"I never thought she wouldn't."

"Don't interrupt me, Barnes."

"Sorry, sir."

"I wish I believed that."

Bucky just grinned.

Fury waved toward the door of the cramped metal building that served as the base of their operations these days. "Go. I'm sick of looking at your face."

Bucky stood up. "Thank you, sir."

"Don't thank me. Just go away." Fury scrubbed a hand down his face. "I want you all to just go away."

Bucky managed not to laugh until he was outside.

***

When Natasha opened the door, Bucky blinked. Then he grinned.

"Wow. I never would have pictured you as a blonde. It looks good."

"You're only saying that because you know it's your fault and you don't want to sleep on the couch." Natasha pushed her newly-dyed hair over her shoulder. She stepped aside, smiling sweetly and waving him in. "This place only has one bed."

"I bet you love that." Bucky passed her and left his bag on the floor, against the wall and out of the way. She didn't seem surprised to see him, and he wondered if Fury had let her know... or if she'd expected it.

Probably she'd expected it.

She shut the door behind him. "Rocky's home, he's in the bedroom."

"Don't I get a kiss?" Bucky affected a pout. "I'm here to see you, too."

Natasha rolled her eyes. "We both know who you're really here for, Herman." She started off, through the living room, toward the open door of what Bucky could only assume was the bedroom. "I need to change, anyway. I have things to do tonight." She shot him a pointed look over her bare freckled shoulder.

Bucky resisted the urge to wince. This mission was supposed to be a cakewalk for Nat and Sharon, just surveillance until it was time to move on Poulin. Bucky refusing to allow the video record of Steve meant baiting the trap had to be a little more hands-on. He wanted to apologize, but she'd been careful to only use their cover names, so he couldn't be sure they weren't being watched themselves.

He said, "You look fine to me," looking her over from the tank top to the snug workout pants to her bare feet with their pink-painted toes. He smiled.

"No one asked you."

She had him there. He shrugged and shut his mouth and followed her into the bedroom.

Steve stood naked at the closet, his back to the door, a pile of lingerie on the bed and more of it in his hands and draped over his forearms. He didn't seem to notice them until Natasha sidled right up behind him and planted her hands on his bare ass, giving each cheek a firm squeeze.

"We've got company, handsome."

Steve started and laughed a little. He glanced over his shoulder and his face seemed to light up, even from the amusement that had been there to begin with. "Hi."

Bucky raised an eyebrow.

There wasn't so much as a trace of guilt in Steve's expression. "When did you get in?"

"This afternoon. I had to make a special stop." He glanced pointedly at Natasha's hands, where they'd moved from his ass to rest comfortably on his hips. "Am I interrupting?" It wasn't usually in him to spoil Steve's fun this way, but the lingerie all over the room was making him twitchy.

And grumpy.

Maybe this wasn't such a good idea. Maybe he should just leave Steve and Nat to it and go brood in the van with Sam.

"No." Steve turned back to the closet. "I'm trying to decide what to wear tonight."

Natasha released her hold on him and retreated into the bathroom, leaving the two of them alone. She shot Bucky a level stare just before she closed the door, and he had no idea what he was supposed to take from it. Be careful? Don't make him nervous? Stop acting like such a jerk?

"You can help me pick," Steve said.

Bucky sat down on the edge of the bed, jostling the sheer rainbow pile. There were an awful lot of sequins and feathers. He frowned. "Where did you get all this?" He was pretty sure there was no room in the ops budget for a new Steve-sized wardrobe.

"Friend of a friend," Steve said, which could have meant anything.

But Bucky was willing to bet it was Sam. Sam seemed like the type who'd "know a guy" who just happened to have lingerie in Steve's size.

Steve tossed things over his shoulder with disturbingly accurate aim, right at Bucky's head. "Are you coming tonight?"

"Not tonight." Bucky pulled the panties and chemises off of his head and shoulders and ducked the corset. He started picking through them, feeling cold inside. He tried to think of Steve  _before_ , tried to picture that little guy being so casual about this, tried to imagine him in sheer lace and shimmery silk in front of a room full of people staring at him, and it made him feel woozy. He'd gotten his memories back, and his memories didn't always match the current reality. Sam liked to tell him that people changed just like everything else. Bucky didn't like the headaches all the changes gave him.

"Too bad," Steve was saying. Like maybe he really did want Bucky to be there.

Bucky had it narrowed down to a black chemise-and-panties set and a black and silver brocade corset with matching tiny shorts when Natasha came out of the bathroom. He glanced up. She'd pulled her hair back in a severe ponytail and was wearing all black that, he knew, would be both unmemorable and unremarkable. She sat down beside him on the bed and put on her sneakers, and she paused to study the clothes Bucky held.

"The corset," she said. "Poulin likes them. And that other top isn't going to offer  _any_ support." She winked at Steve.

Steve grinned at her and plucked the panties and the corset out of Bucky's hands. "Thanks."

"No problem." She finished tying her sneakers and stood up, bouncing a little on the balls of her feet. She smiled at Steve. "See you backstage?"

"How else am I going to get made up?"

Laughing, Natasha slid an arm around his neck and pulled him down so she could kiss him, noisy and all for show. Bucky rolled his eyes.

Steve laughed when she pulled away.

On her way past Bucky, Natasha ruffled his hair. "Try not to ruin him. He has work to do tonight."

Bucky grunted at her.

Steve went into the bathroom and Natasha left, leaving Bucky all alone in the bedroom with a pile of Steve-sized ladies' underthings beside him and a cold hard knot in the pit of his stomach. He listened to the electric clippers going on and off in the bathroom and he felt increasingly queasy.

Maybe it was a bad idea to be so close to Steve during this.

Steve poked his head out of the bathroom door. "Come wash my back."

Bucky shifted uncomfortably. He never could turn Steve down. "Yeah." He stood up, pretty sure he could see already how this was going to end.

He yanked his shirt over his head and left it on the bedroom floor.

Steve backed up as Bucky entered the bathroom, eyes skating all over the newly-exposed skin as Bucky stripped.

"I missed you," he said.

"Yeah?" They hadn't spent as much time together since the op had started as Bucky would have liked, between Bucky feeding Poulin's men the information they wanted and Steve playing the bait. He kicked off his boots and shoved off his jeans, and when he stood up in front of Steve, he was naked.

Steve grabbed his hips and pulled him close. He ran his hand up Bucky's bionic arm, the metal concealed with lifelike silicone skin and a solid light image, courtesy of Maria Hill and the StarkTech R&D team.

"Yeah," he said, and leaned in for a kiss.

Bucky started to relax for the first time since they'd started the op. He could handle this.

Twenty minutes later, he was angrily drying off, his back to Steve and his thoughts a jumbled mess.

Steve curved a hand around his elbow. "Hey..."

Bucky scowled. "Let it go."

Steve pulled at him, more insistent this time. "It's fine, Buck."

Bucky grabbed his boxers from where he'd left them in the pile of his clothes. He yanked them on, scoffing. "Yeah, sure."

"Happens to all of us," Steve insisted. "Don't let it get to you. Would you please look at me?"

Sighing, resigned, Bucky tugged on his pants and straightened. He turned to face Steve.

Steve stepped in, tucking fingers into one of the belt loops of Bucky's jeans. He tugged him close, their bodies not quite touching, and he slid his hand around Bucky's side to splay his fingers over the small of his back. It was a warm touch, intimate and reassuring.

"It's all right."

"Sure it is." Bucky had vague memories of similar conversations a lifetime before, when he'd been the one offering the reassurances. Had Steve felt like this? What an ass he'd been.

Steve brushed his mouth over Bucky's. "You think you're the only one this happens to?"

"I'm the only one in this room it happens to," Bucky huffed.

Steve gave a half-shrug. "I'm a better man than you."

Bucky gave him an incredulous look, but that actually made him feel better than the gentle touches and the kind words. "You're a jerk."

Steve grinned like he knew he'd done his job. He stole another kiss, then pulled away. "Help me put on that corset."

***

There wasn't enough air in the van. "We have to get him out of there," Bucky muttered. He wanted to tug at the collar of his shirt, for all the good it would do. He settled for shoving his sleeves up to his elbows. "He can't do this."

"Report," Fury snapped. "Is Rocky compromised?"

"Yeah." Bucky glared at the screen, at Steve teasing the stocking down one shapely leg. "He can't do that. Sir."

"Looks like he's doing fine to me," Fury said.

Steve turned his back to the crowd for a little wiggle. Static crackled in Bucky's ear, and then Steve's voice came through, low and reassuring, "I'm all right."

"Rocky, you are not supposed to break radio silence."

"But--"

Steve cut him off with, "It's just like knocking out Hitler."

Bucky's mouth snapped shut. He watched Steve turn back around to face the crowd, watched him finish the striptease and little dance to the pop song Bucky didn't recognize. His head started to pound.

Steve was wrong. This was nothing like the performing monkey routine he'd done selling war bonds.

"You got a problem with guys like that, Barnes?" Sam's voice was low and even, but Bucky recognized the thread of danger in it.

Bucky glanced at Sam. He'd gotten used to not even trying to hide things from him--Sam, he'd learned quick, could be trusted no matter what. Bucky shook his head. It wasn't about men in dressed up like women. He didn't give a damn what guys did for their kicks just as long as no one got hurt, and it would be a lie to say he didn't get the appeal, but this was  _Steve_ .

"Nope. I got a problem with Steve getting hurt." Bucky watched Steve on screen, in the dressing room where they'd set up more cameras. Steve separated himself from the rest of the dancers to make it easier for Poulin to approach him and he wasn't in any hurry to cover up the corset and panties or get them off. Bucky's heart ached. "This could hurt him."

"He might surprise you."

Bucky snorted. "He surprises me all the time, Sam." He set his elbows on his knees and leaned forward, covering his face with his hands but leaving his eyes free and locked to the screen. "Whose idea was this?" he wondered out loud.

"Why? So you can go shoot them?"

"I was only gonna punch him a few times," he muttered. That was almost as good.

Sam leaned back in his seat, the chair creaking, and he smiled. "Sounds like you already know."

Bucky sighed. "Fury's got an interesting sense of humor. We never would have had this problem with Phillips, you know. " He smirked. It had taken a year for the colonel to stop calling Steve "the chorus girl." The old man would have gotten a real kick out of this.

"It's not punishment, you know," Sam said suddenly.

Bucky glanced at him and frowned. "What?"

Sam nodded at the screens. "Steve's not being punished. Fury doesn't even like sending Steve in on covert ops. It's just that he's the only guy we have Poulin would even want."

Bucky frowned. "I know."

"Not telling you was Steve's idea," Sam added. "He said you'd kick up a fuss and you wouldn't let him do it. But... Bucky, this guy is bad."

"Don't you think I know that?"

"I know you do, man, but sometimes Steve gets in your way. You don't see so well around him," Sam said gently.

Bucky looked back at the screen. Sam wasn't wrong. He clenched his jaw. Forever ago, he'd spent a lifetime protecting Steve. Most of his motivation since he'd come back had been protecting Steve. He couldn't help it.

Sam went on, "We need to get him, and we can't do that unless we get someone close enough. Steve's our man."

"He's a terrible spy," Bucky said flatly.

"Yeah, but he's got great legs."

Even Bucky had to laugh at that.

Sam clapped his shoulder, and the warmth of it went straight through him. Steve had done all right on his own finding these people. Bucky relaxed a little, leaning in to Sam's touch.

"The guy I knew," Bucky started. He hesitated, trying to get the words he wanted into the right order. "He'd have socked anyone who even suggested something like this."

Sam's hand dropped away and he leaned back in his seat. When Bucky cut his eyes over at him, Sam was studying Steve on screen, contemplative.

Steve was sitting in front of the mirror, leaning in and playing with his hair, with the top edge of the corset. Waiting. Clearly waiting, and Poulin would see the invitation. Bucky scanned the other screens and spotted Le Coq, well-dressed, short and a little tubby but clearly a confident man. Bucky looked back at Steve. It wasn't that he didn't look good, didn't fit the role they needed to trap Poulin. It was that Bucky was acutely aware of the emotional toll something like this could take on Steve.

Or maybe it was him, and he was getting his wires all mixed up again.

"You'd be surprised," Sam said at last. "Steve's pretty good at adapting these days. He's got a good network, you know?" He reached for the bag of chips he'd stashed in the van, in direct defiance of Fury's "no fucking food in my fucking van" orders.

"If you say so," Bucky murmured, watching Poulin, knowing the moment Le Coq saw Steve. Sam had a point, Bucky could admit. He'd come through this. They both would.

It was just that Bucky was, these days, acutely aware of the costs.

The van door slid open and Sharon jumped in. "You're up, Herman," she said, slamming the door behind her.

Bucky glanced over his shoulder at her, tugging his headset off. "Make a little more noise next time, Lucky."

"Your mics are on," she said. She let Sam pull her into his lap as she grinned at Bucky. "How come you're not worried about me? Or Red?"

Sam rested his chin on her shoulder. "You're not a threat to his claim on his man," he said.

Bucky rolled his eyes. He reached for his jacket, handing his headset over to her. "That's not true," he said.

Sharon adjusted the headband. "I used to live in Mr. Rogers' neighborhood, you better believe I'm a threat."

Sam stifled his laughter against the back of her shoulder.

Bucky really loved these people Steve found.  _"Won't you be my neighbor,"_ he singsonged.

"If things don't work out with birdbrain, I'll give you a call," she said.

"Here we go," Natasha's murmured voice filled the van.

"Move out, Herman."

Bucky stood up, hunched in the van, and straightened his jacket. "I'm on them."

***

After less than fifteen minutes of shameless flirting, Steve pretended to give Natasha the slip and left with Poulin. He declined the car, tucking his hand into Poulin's elbow and swaying into him and rhapsodizing about what a beautiful night it was. That seemed to amuse Poulin, who smiled and laughed and pulled Steve closer. Bucky trailed behind them, glad he could hide in the shadows and glad there were no cameras on him.

Steve being out with someone else wasn't the issue. Steve still dressed like a lady, in heels and stockings and one of those easy-to-open dresses that tied at his waist, made Bucky edgy and made the place between his shoulderblades itch like someone had painted a target on him. Steve's laughter echoed between the buildings and he put a little extra shimmy in his step. Bucky jammed his hands into his pockets and ducked his head.

"Knock it off, Rocky," Bucky murmured. "This is no place for a fella dressed like you to be drawing attention to himself."

"Oh, I can take care of myself," Steve said, warm and flirting, talking to Poulin but all for Bucky.

Bucky scowled. He knew Steve could take care of himself. But if Steve got into trouble, Bucky wasn't sure he wouldn't be able to keep himself from rushing in to help--and that would blow the whole op if it happened.

"But isn't it more fun," Poulin said, "to let someone take care of you?"

Bucky nearly groaned.

Poulin led Steve into his building. Bucky kept walking, passing the building, and turning the corner. He found the van in an alley one block up and two blocks over. Sam was waiting for him with the door open when Bucky squeezed in between it and the dumpster.

"Man, don't blow this for us," he said.

Bucky accepted the rifle case Sharon handed to him and slung the extra equipment pack over his shoulder. "I'm not blowing anything."

Sharon eyed him. "Are you going to be all right up there? Want me to come with you?"

Bucky paused and looked at her. He realized he must be doing really badly if Sharon was willing to spot for him. "Snake's already mad at me," he finally said. "I probably shouldn't take away his favorite backup."

Sharon just nodded.

"Where'd Rocky learn to honeypot like that, anyway?"

Sharon looked sheepish. "I think it was me and Red."

Bucky blinked at her and then smirked. "Mr. Rogers' neighborhood?"

"It was a sweet gig. Shower time was the  _best_ ."

Bucky laughed and Sam groaned. "Come on..."

"I like your showers more," Sharon said.

Bucky shook his head and reached for the van door. "I'm going up. Stay in touch."

"Will do, Herman," Sam said.

Bucky slid the door shut and managed not to make any dogs bark or birds fly up. He jumped on top of the dumpster, swung up onto a fire escape, and climbed up to the roof. They'd already staked out an empty apartment with a sightline straight into Poulin's place. He crossed a few roofs, then used an old service stairwell to get into the empty apartment. Kids these days were all afraid of a little lead paint and asbestos; all it took was a hand-printed sign taped to the front door to keep them out. Bucky checked that he could still see Poulin's place and signaled to Natasha that he was in position.

She signaled back, a red dot flashed on the wall behind him, and he rolled his eyes. Someone needed to take that laser pointer away from her.

He set up his rifle and settled in to watch Steve and their target through his scope. Poulin had all the lights on in the rooms they were using. They'd known he'd do that--the man was a real exhibitionist--but it was still strange to see the two of them put on display like that.

And Steve. Steve was really getting into his role.

He pulled some move that ended with Poulin's jacket open and Steve's legs around his thighs, the both of them up against the glass. Bucky's scope was strong enough that he could see Steve's hands sliding up Poulin's vest, see the interest flare in Le Coq's eyes.

"Where the hell did he learn that?" Bucky murmured. Steve had never used that move on him...

"That's all Red," Sharon came back, so quickly Bucky was pretty sure she was throwing blame where it didn't belong.

A burst of static over the comm reminded them that Nat could hear them--but she couldn't say anything. He smiled.

"Who has eyes on Red?"

"We do."

Good. As long as Natasha found what they were looking for--and at this point, it could be anything from contact information to deeds to names on a list; Poulin was smart, and he was slippery, and they just didn't have the resources these days to move until they had proof--this would be the last night of the op. Bucky blew out a long, slow breath and relaxed. He could watch anything if he knew it was the last time.

He could even watch slime like Poulin rub his grubby hands all over Steve.

The grinding became drinks on the balcony overlooking the bay, with Steve breathlessly asking if there was "something extra" in the drink Poulin had fixed him. Bucky gritted his teeth. Steve's question was just code--and Bucky was willing to bet that the "something extra" was one of Le Coq's designer date rape drugs. He started to ask if Sharon and Sam had caught that, but Sam beat him to it.

"We're going to want to go through that place tonight and see what goodies he's got hiding."

"Damn it," Sharon muttered.

This time, mission complications weren't Bucky's fault.

Steve played up the effects of the drug, stumbling a little when Poulin led him back inside. Bucky listened to the smarmy flattery Poulin laid on thick when he asked Steve to dance for him. He couldn't figure out how the hell this guy got anyone into his life who didn't have to be there.

The music that filtered over the comms was low and slow, and watching Steve dance for their mark made Bucky's stomach churn. He leaned away from the scope for a few moments to swallow some air and get his gut under control. If he retched, well, it wouldn't be the first time something he saw through the scope of his rifle made him sick.

You did what you had to do to take down people like Poulin, people who used others. Bucky had done worse than dance for a power-mad weirdo, he'd been backup for Natasha and watched her do worse than get groped. It was part of the job. It was part of being the thin line between the chaos these people craved and the order and safety everyone deserved. Bucky understood that. He knew Steve understood that.

But he didn't like that Steve had to do any of it.

He didn't like that Steve had to do this, had to open his dress, had to let Poulin touch him, had to let himself be pinned down on the couch-- Wow. Bucky swept the scope along the length of the couch. Huh. That thing was big enough for Steve. He made a mental note to keep track of it through evidence. It would inevitably go up for auction, unless he could convince Maria to let him have it before then. That thing was huge.

Bucky almost wished he were jealous as he watched Poulin run his hands up Steve's legs and press their groins together. It would give him something else to focus on, be easier to explain the cold anger that made him shake and the dry heaves he had to keep fighting. But he'd always shared Steve. He'd spent most of their life together sharing Steve; first with girls and even a couple of guys before the war, with Peggy in Europe, with Natasha and Sharon and Sam since he'd been back, though not with the three of them to the extent he and Steve really wanted. Bucky watched Steve's hands on Poulin's head, through the red curls that looked eerily like a rooster's comb, and on his back and on his ass, pulling Poulin closer. He just wasn't wired for jealousy. He wanted Steve happy, wanted Steve to enjoy himself, wanted Steve to feel safe and wanted. In any other situation, Bucky would even enjoy watching Steve get his.

But tonight Bucky was just disgusted with the world that Steve had to compromise himself like this.

A burst of static over the comms preceded Natasha's low and triumphant, "Got it."

Bucky leaned in. He slowed his breathing as he watched Poulin mouth at Steve's neck. Everything took on the dreamy, crystalline quality that happened when the action got hot.

Poulin was biting at Steve's collarbone and Steve was smiling dazedly up at the high ceiling when Fury's voice took over the comms.

"Move in, people."

It happened quickly and quietly. Sharon and Natasha entered through the front door. Sam, on the roof with his wings, covered the side of the building Bucky couldn't see; Bucky had a clear shot to anywhere on his two sides of the building. Fury swept into the apartment, and Natasha and Sharon flanked him.

Steve locked arms and legs around Poulin as soon as he saw Fury; Poulin reacted by throwing himself and Steve off of the couch, twisting and slipping, and coming up with his arm around Steve's shoulders, Steve held against his front like a human shield, and a gun in his hand. He started shouting.

Bucky's finger itched. One shot, one kill, and this would be over. But Poulin wasn't working alone, and Natasha had been chomping at the bit to get her hands on him for an interrogation. He took his finger off the trigger and waited. There was always the chance Fury would let him shoot off Poulin's hand...

Steve didn't give him the chance. A well-placed elbow, a spin into a kick, and the full weight of his engineered body knocked Poulin out flat and out cold.

Sharon stepped over him to grab his arm and the man was limp as a rag doll.

"I wanted to shoot him," Bucky pouted.

"Sorry," Steve said.

Fury sighed. "I didn't even get to tell him who we are or why we're here."

"Sorry," Steve said again.

Sharon kicked at Poulin's wrist. Le Coq didn't even stir. She shot Steve a little smile. "You just couldn't wait to hit him, could you?"

"I said I was sorry."

"Put some clothes on," Fury snapped. To Natasha, he asked, "Is there anything else you need to look at before I send in the scene crew?"

Sharon picked Steve's dress up off the edge of the couch and handed it to him. Bucky caught her soft, "Nice rear, Cap," and saw Steve's answering smile.

Natasha said to Fury, "Don't send in the cleanup yet. Give us a chance to go through everything. Sam, Sharon, and I will do it tonight."

Fury eyed her. "I'm sure your volunteering has nothing to do with that shower."

"It's a really nice shower."

Sharon rolled Poulin to his side and started to heft him into a fireman's carry. Steve shouldered her out of the way.

"I have to go down, anyway," he said, picking up Poulin like he weighed nothing. "I'll put him in the car."

"Don't be afraid to knock him on the doors or walls if you want," Bucky said.

"I figured you'd be a little more sympathetic to prisoners, Barnes." Fury's gaze swept the living area of the apartment.

"Not this prisoner, sir."

Fury found what he was looking for in a tin on the high counter between the kitchen and the living room. He held his hand out to Natasha, who handed him a plastic bag, and he slipped the tin into it.

"I'm taking this to the lab tonight," he told Natasha. "Just in case."

"I feel fine," Steve protested.

Fury nodded to Nat, then passed Steve, pausing to pat his shoulder. "Sure you do, big guy. This is just a precaution. Let's go."

Steve's voice echoed in the hall through the comm as he followed Fury to the elevator. "It only hit me for a few minutes."

Bucky closed his eyes, suddenly wondering how much of that acting when Steve had stumbled and let himself be manhandled and talked into dancing was just acting and how much of it was the result of whatever Poulin had slipped him. He tugged the piece out of his ear and focused on his breathing and gave himself two minutes.

He wouldn't overestimate Steve's acting skills next time.

Bucky packed up his rifle and slipped out of the apartment. He took the front stairs down; at this hour on a weekday, it was unlikely he'd pass any of the residents, and if he did, he'd just hold his case like a flower delivery box. Did anyone even still use those? He wondered about that as he pushed through the doors, into the cool night. He hadn't seen any long-stem rose boxes since he'd been back. He kind of missed them.

He'd sent flowers before. Bucky smiled to himself. He'd even sent roses, and not even just to his mother. He missed that, too.

He supposed, if he really wanted, he could send Steve flowers. Now they wouldn't fuck with his breathing...

It was something to think about.

Bucky slid the rifle case off his shoulder and carried it as he approached the van. Sam was leaned into the back, hauling out overnight bags and a couple of evidence kits. Bucky frowned at him.

"Natasha was serious?"

"Sharon even offered to wash her back." Sam slammed the van's doors. "I'm not missing that."

"We can get the van back in one piece." Steve leaned out of the side of the van and held his hand out.

Bucky passed his rifle case up silently, still looking at Sam. "Are you sure Hill isn't going to tear us all a new one for leaving me and Steve in charge of the van?"

"Just don't do anything stupid," Sam said.

"You know who you're talking to, Wilson?" Steve said from inside, where he was tucking Bucky's rifle into place.

Bucky flipped Steve an obscene gesture Steve couldn't see. "Just make sure you change the sheets on Poulin's bed. He picked up Steve, there's no telling who else he picked up."

Steve poked his head out of the van one more time. "Uh, Buck, only one of us got treated for VD, and I don't believe it was me..."

Bucky flushed.  _One time_ you get lucky with the prettiest girl in the village and she gives you everything she got from Jerry... "You're still on that? That was seventy-three years ago, buddy."

Sam laughed. "This story I want to hear. Just not tonight. Be careful, guys." He slapped Bucky's shoulder. "You all right?"

"Yeah, we're good." But Bucky met Sam's eyes because he knew what Sam was really asking, and he nodded.

"We'll be back in the morning for you three and the evidence," Steve said.

"Take your time. There might be a lot of, uh,  _evidence_ to collect."

Bucky laughed.

Sam grinned and left them, loaded down with three go bags and evidence kits and a couple of cameras, too.

Maybe they really would work.

Or maybe Sam was just committed to making it look like they were going to work.

Bucky climbed into the van. "Ready to go?"

Steve slid between the front seats and settled into the passenger seat. "Yeah."

Bucky shut off the monitors, resisting the urge to peek in on Poulin's bathroom to see if Sharon and Nat had gotten started without Sam. He stopped the jammers and flicked off the power to the whole setup. He gave Steve a strange look.

"You don't want to drive?"

Steve flashed him leg, stocking and the sky-high heel he still hadn't taken off. "Haven't figured out how to in these," he admitted.

Bucky rolled his eyes. "Your stuff is right here." He pointed to the square black bag behind the passenger seat. Steve's uniform and his civilian clothes were all in it.

Steve just shrugged and leaned back in the seat. He buckled up. "Come on, let's go home."

Bucky slammed the side door shut and climbed between the front seats to take the driver's seat. "Home home or cover home?"

"Cover home's closer. Can we stop for burgers? I'm starving."

Bucky snapped the buckle of his seatbelt and eyed Steve's dress. He'd at least closed it, but there was still the peek of corset at his breastbone, and the way he was sitting left the slit open to his hip, revealing the top of his stocking.

"Let's have something delivered," Bucky said.

He started the van and pulled away from the curb. When he'd pointed them toward the cover building, Steve dropped his hand on his thigh and leaned over.

"We all gotta do our part, Buck," he said.

Steve had said the same thing to him so many times Bucky had lost count. "Never said we didn't," he replied, but he didn't look at Steve.

"Never used to hold your tongue like this. Used to be, you'd tell me just exactly what's got you so mad."

"Fellas change," was all he said, and he shifted his leg from under Steve's hand.

Steve hesitated, then pulled his hand back into his own lap and settled back in his seat, as far away from Bucky as the small cab allowed. "Yeah. I noticed that."

They rode the rest of the way in silence. At least it wasn't far.

Bucky parked the van in the underground garage attached to their building and went into the back to collect the weapons and the most sensitive of the equipment. Maria could be a real hardass about acceptable losses; Bucky wasn't entirely convinced she wasn't part accountant. Steve climbed out through the passenger door and when Bucky hopped out of the side, Steve was just standing there, expression a little sad and contemplative, and looking nothing at all like himself. He glanced up at Bucky.

"Need a hand?" He held his left one out, open.

Bucky rolled his eyes. "Funny." He passed over half of the equipment bags.

"Not that funny or you'd be laughing."

Bucky locked the van and started for the elevator. "How many burgers do you want?" He slipped his phone out of his pocket.

When they stopped at the elevator, Steve punched the button and moved close to Bucky, brushing their bodies together. He rested his chin on Bucky's shoulder to look down at the phone's screen. "Just get my usual order, please." He turned his face to nuzzle in against Bucky's neck and take a deep breath. "Maybe a few extra. I haven't eaten since breakfast."

Goosebumps rose on Bucky's skin and a shiver went down his spine. His body knew how to react when Steve was that close, knew what it meant to be touched like that, and though he felt the heat twist low in his belly, there was absolutely nothing going on south of there. Still. He stepped away from Steve and thumbed open the delivery app.

"Want anything else?" He had their regular order saved; he added a few extra cheeseburgers and more fries.

"No."

They waited in silence until the  _ding_ of the elevator. The doors opened, and Bucky slipped his phone back into his pocket.

"It should be here in about half an hour," he said, following Steve into the elevator. Steve hit the button for their floor; Bucky stared at the dress and added, "You have enough time to shower and put something else on."

Steve didn't say anything the whole ride up to their floor, or in the hall. Bucky took the equipment bags from him so Steve could open the door. As soon as the apartment door was closed and Bucky had set down their gear, Steve grabbed him by the front of his belt and hauled him close.

It was easy to forget what Steve was wearing when he closed his eyes and leaned hard against him, pinning him between himself and the wall. Bucky cupped the back of Steve's neck with his flesh hand and played his fingers through the short hairs at the base of his skull. He could ignore that Steve didn't smell right. He  _felt_ right. He kissed him just like he would at the end of any other mission, glad to have gotten out of it alive, glad to be alive with Steve.

"Come wash my back," Steve murmured into his mouth.

It was an ugly reminder. Bucky pulled away, reluctant and edgy. "I'll wait for the food."

Steve pulled him back and kissed his chin, the edge of his mouth. "We don't have to do anything. It can be just a shower." He palmed Bucky's side, high enough up that it wasn't suggestive, just reassuring.

Bucky squeezed Steve's hips, the material of the dress soft and clingy under his hands, and he pulled away, out of Steve's reach. "Go on. Get cleaned up."

Steve looked hurt for a moment, eyes soft and mouth turned down. "Is it because of Poulin?"

Bucky winced. "Are you kidding?"

"Natasha?"

Bucky gave him an exasperated look. "When the hell did you kissing someone else ever matter?"

Steve pushed away from the wall and squared his shoulders. His frown firmed and Bucky knew that look, knew the set of his jaw and his shoulders and the curl of his fists. His heart sank. He was too tired to do this tonight.

"Then what the hell?"

"It's the fucking dress," Bucky said, without feeling. "It's the goddamn lingerie."

Steve's face screwed up, his cheeks red. "You like goddamn lingerie!"

Bucky's shoulders came up and his eyes narrowed. Steve didn't get to tell him what he liked--he remembered just fine, thank you. "Sure do.  _Ladies_ in goddamn lingerie."

Steve stared hard at him.

Bucky gestured. "This isn't you, Steve, I don't like it. How would you have taken it in '41 if someone said, 'put this on and act like this'?" His hand balled into a fist and it was only remembering that the apartment wasn't really theirs that kept him from putting his fist through a wall. "You'd have kicked up a screaming fit!"

Steve scowled. " _Fellas change_ . I put on the fucking tights, didn't I?" He looked done. He turned and stomped off, heels clicking angrily on the hardwood floor in the silence of the apartment.

Bucky watched him go. He couldn't help how he felt. Now that he had his memories back, he couldn't help what he remembered, and just because people changed and he knew it didn't make it any easier.

The food showed up before Steve came out of the bathroom. Bucky took everything to the little eat-in kitchen and made it all look nice on the cheap new plates. He set the table and even set out the beers, and then he sat down to wait. Steve knew the food was here. Even if he hadn't heard Bucky talking to the delivery boy, he could smell it. So Bucky would wait.

A sniper's best skill was patience, after all.

It was another few minutes, long enough to make his point but not so long to food got cold, before Steve came to the table. His hair was damp, and the makeup was scrubbed off and he was wearing the loose shorts he liked for bed. Bucky felt an immense sense of relief. He slumped in his chair. This was the Steve he knew.

Steve's expression was unforgiving. Bucky nudged the plate closer to him when he sat down, and they ate in silence. Steve polished off all of his burgers and the extra orders of fries. He even had one of the beers. That was as close to a truce as Bucky could imagine Steve calling.

So when Steve got up to put his dishes in the sink and leave the beer bottle in the recycling, Bucky seized his chance.

He grabbed his wrist, wrapping bionic fingers around flesh and bone hard enough to hurt, and he yanked Steve down onto his lap. The chair gave a threatening groan, but he didn't care; if it broke, they'd have this moment on the floor.

They'd done it before.

"I'm into whatever you're into, Steve," Bucky said quietly, deliberately. "I'm into  _you_ . But used to be, you'd start throwing fists if anyone even hinted at you being--being like that. Maybe I just don't know what to do with you acting like you like it."

Steve looked down at him. His expression shifted to something a little more understanding. "It's not that I like it, Buck." He ran a hand up Bucky's arm until he could hold the back of Bucky's neck. "It was part of the job. Any other way to get Poulin into custody, we'd have done it. But you've been such an asshole about it. Thought if anyone would want that guy caught, it's you. And I wouldn't have been that bad if it was you."

"No, you'd have been worse." Bucky tipped his head so he could rest his forehead against Steve's collarbone. "I'd have made it look good. Not like your hairy legs in nylons. Did you even shave the important parts, or just the parts you thought Poulin would get his hands on?"

"I didn't shave for Poulin." Steve brushed a hand through Bucky's hair and kissed the top of his head. Truce called, then. He stood up, backing off of Bucky's lap, and twisted his wrist so he was holding Bucky's hand. "Let's go to bed."

Bucky let Steve pull him up from the chair and through the little apartment, shutting off lights as they went. In the bedroom, Steve fell back, hauling Bucky with him to bounce a little on the bed. It was nice, to be stretched out half on top of Steve in a room that wasn't really theirs. Like being in a hotel. Bucky ran a hand up and down Steve's bare side, fingers light. Steve tangled his fingers in Bucky's hair and urged him down. Kisses lasted, long and slow, stealing Bucky's breath.

It was good. Until Steve's dick pressed hard and hot and insistent against his hip and his own was doing absolutely fucking nothing.

Steve kissed his bottom lip. "Tired?" he asked quietly, carefully.

Bucky pressed his face to the pillow beside Steve's head. "I can't stop thinking about you in the nightie," he admitted. Every time his body warmed up, he flashed on Steve in that corset and those panties, and he thought about the skinny punk he knew wearing the same thing, and his dick shriveled right back up.

Steve shoved him off. "Fuck you," he said without feeling. He threw an arm over his face and sighed.

Bucky stared at the popcorn ceiling. "You're not being real sympathetic here," he complained.

"I'm not feeling real sympathetic," Steve snapped. "So you had to see me in a goddamn negligee. I read your whole damned HYDRA file and  _I_ can still get it up when  _you_ want it."

Bucky rolled his eyes even though it stung a little more than he wished it did. "Don't be an ass."

"You are." Steve dropped his hand to the bed. The backs of his fingers brushed Bucky's. "We won. Bad guy down. I think the hero deserves a reward."

Oh, so he'd changed gears. Bucky scoffed. "What, the satisfaction of a job well done isn't doing it for you?"

"Maybe I'm worried this is bad and I need you to let me know it isn't."

Steve sounded so young. Bucky rolled to his side and grabbed for Steve. It wasn't that he didn't want. He  _did_ want, and he wanted badly. He wanted Steve whenever he got him, because Steve was and always had been one of the biggest good and right things in his world. Sometimes he forgot that Steve had been through a lot, too. He pressed his face to Steve's neck and wrapped his flesh hand around Steve's half-hard prick.

"You were pretty great today," he said, voice low and lips moving against the angle of Steve's jaw.

Steve shuddered. He shifted against Bucky, rolling his hips, and lipped at the curve of Bucky's neck. "Yeah?"

"Mmm-hmm." Bucky dragged his lips along Steve's hot skin until he could scrape his teeth over his earlobe. "You looked good, spread out on that couch. Always liked watching you get yours."

Steve's breathing picked up and his legs spread, just a little. "Yeah?"

"Liked it when you knocked him out, too." Bucky rolled flat to his back and pulled Steve on top of him. He let Steve spread his legs over him, lined their cocks up through Steve's shorts. He stuck both hands down the back of Steve's shorts for shameless handfuls of his ass, digging his fingers in, massaging muscles that didn't need a massage.

Steve rocked his hips against him, rutting against Bucky's hip, rubbing his hip against Bucky's soft dick.

"That's more like it," he breathed. He turned his face to cover Bucky's mouth with his own.

Bucky flexed and held on, letting Steve rub off against him, sliding his fingers into the crack of Steve's ass. He stroked fingertips over his hole and over the backs of his balls, held the very tops of his thighs in a punishing grip just the way Steve liked. Steve cried out into his mouth when he came, hot and wet between their bodies, soaking through Bucky's shirt, and going limp over him. He was heavier than he looked. He mouthed at Bucky's collarbone.

"'S all right, Buck," he mumbled, rocking his hips a little, thoughtless movement. "Happens to lots of guys. Not me, but, you know. Lots of other guys."

Bucky shut his eyes and bit back a sigh. "Fuck yourself." He shoved Steve off of him. Leave it to Steve to ruin a perfectly good moment. He rolled off of the bed.

Steve laughed, drowsy and so amused with himself. "Come on. Don't be like that." He made a half-hearted grab for him. "Come back to bed, don't make me sleep alone."

"You deserve to sleep alone," Bucky grunted. He grabbed a pillow and yanked the blanket from beneath Steve.

Steve was still laughing at him.

Bucky hit the lights on his way out, stomping off to sleep alone on the couch.

 


End file.
